


The heart fluttering feeling

by zimriya



Series: The last flame of my life (a Homin ABO AU) [2]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, alpha changmin, b/c it's heat fic, omega yunho, wouldn't call it that but to be save
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: It wasn’t on purpose, for the record. Canon AU.





	The heart fluttering feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I wrote pure PWP with omega Yunho b/c yes and then, several months later, I got convinced to revisit a throw away line in that fic, so have the prequel PWP thing that ended up having quite a bit more plot than I wanted b/c, um, I guess I haven't met me.
> 
> Title from Heaven’s Day, betaed by Scar, prequel type sequel thing to the other heat fic, all other mistakes are my own. 
> 
> THIS IS TOTALLY GETTING POSTED AS A WELCOME HOME YUNHO THING THAT NO ONE SHOULD EVER LET HIM KNOW EXISTS.
> 
> [PRIMER](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/aboau)

**The heart fluttering feeling**  

\--

It wasn’t on purpose, for the record. Yunho fully admits that he’s spent the better end of 2013 moping around stages, their apartment, his apartment, Changmin’s apartment, the SM Building, and even, on several occasions, all five airports they frequent when doing a Japanese tour. But he’d been handling it. Changmin hadn’t even noticed, which was good, because Yunho very firmly believed in the importance of independence and being one’s own person in a relationship.

Especially given that relationship was with Shim Changmin, who until very recently ascribed to the mentality of ‘you’re born alone and you die alone’ and tended to get very cross eyed and uncooperative any time Yunho talked about things like marriage or official bonding ceremonies.

So it had been going well, and while Yunho’s immediate friends had taken to rolling their eyes whenever they saw him in between schedules, Changmin was none the wiser, and given that Changmin was the cause of all the stress and late nights staring at a phone screen and even the frankly mortifying tantrum he’d thrown when he realized they weren’t going to show any footage of him bowling on the show, that was  _fine_. That was perfect, even.

And it wasn’t like Changmin was acting any different, even though he did spend all his free time practicing various sports (instead of their dances) and texting Jongsoo-hyung (who Yunho remembered liking on X-Man and who really hadn’t done anything to deserve the amount of vitriol Yunho’s sleep deprived hindbrain was capable of on good days). In fact, if anything, Yunho would have said Changmin was happier, more outgoing, less inclined to hand Yunho microphones mid press con, and more willing to smile and giggle in between sets during rehearsals.

And they were mated.

So like, if anything, Yunho’s jealousy was both unbecoming and unfounded; he had the mark on his hip to prove it.

Which means waking up in the middle of their very mild very tiny break between tour dates to a very familiar ache in his groin and a very familiar flush everywhere else is horrible, to say the least.

Changmin’s already gone, left early in the morning to fly back to Korea for more filming of that fucking  _show_ , and so no one’s around to see when Yunho whimpers, sticks his hand down his pants, and gets himself off in a matter of minutes. Which, rather ironically, is kind of sort of the problem.

Because it doesn’t help.

\--

So Yunho can’t leave their apartment.

Technically speaking this is fine. He doesn’t have any schedules since Changmin’s gone, and even if their staff wanted anything of him, he could still probably get away with using that as an excuse. They don’t need him at the Dome until the 15th either, because that’s when Changmin’s flying back in--and they’ve got them a hotel because it’s two days--so all in all he really has no reason to be leaving the apartment.

Only-- _probably_ \--he should try to buy some scent blockers. Or maybe even try for some sort of low grade ovulation inducer or a knotting dildo, of some sort. It’s kind of tragic he doesn’t have Kyungtae with, because at least Kyungtae would be somewhat helpful in getting some sort of relief, but Yunho realizes with a groan that not only has he left Kyungtae in Seoul, but that he also hasn’t packed the thing for international travel in literally the _entire_ year and two months  that he’s had access to an alpha knot whenever the fuck he wants.

It’s poor planning, is what it is.

It isn’t romantic.

Certainly, it’s not worthy Yunho shoving a hand back down his boxers for yet another unsatisfying orgasm.

Yunho shoves his hand back down his boxers for what feels like _two_ unsatisfying orgasms.

“Scent blockers,” he manages, after. “I should. I need scent blockers--” There’s got to be a konbini on the corner somewhere that he can risk, but then, no, there’s no way he can risk anything in this state. Hell, Yunho’s having trouble sitting up; at most he’s managed to kick the blankets off and not rub out another orgasm, but that’s only because he knows it would probably make things worse.

And even if he managed to hide who he was in  _Japan_ , everyone would still be able to smell it on him.

“Fuck,” Yunho says, dropping his head back against the pillow--Changmin’s--and staring blearily up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

Yunho’s got faith in the world for sure, but even he knows better than to go wandering around in heat smelling like it. And Changmin would probably kill someone, which would put a real damper on both of their careers.

And the whole. Blooming variety thing Changmin’s got going on.

Which doesn’t help at all; now Yunho’s thinking about Changmin and Changmin’s show and Jongsoo-hyung and his damn matching piercing eyes that really have nothing on Changmin’s--only Changmin’s go mismatched when he smiles and laughs and also sometimes when he’s throwing his head back and coming and oh-- _oh_ \-- _oh_ \--

For a second Yunho is almost impressed, because there had been some actual sensation along with that orgasm--the feel of Changmin’s perfect fingers and Changmin’s perfect kisses--but then it all shatters away into a sticky, unsatisfying mess between Yunho’s thighs.

He’s wearing Changmin’s boxers.

“Fuck,” Yunho says again.

He should shower.

\--

The cold water really doesn’t help, which really is to be expected, but his temperature goes down a bit, and he’s finally starting to feel less weak in the knees, so by the time the water’s starting to actually feel warm, he almost feels like a person again.

He shoves himself into the first pair of sweatpants he can find--Changmin’s, his nose points out helpfully--grabs a t-shirt, pulls it on, mindless of the correct orientation of front and back, and heads back into the bathroom to properly hang up his towel.

And then he stops, heart thudding, cock aching once more, and has a horrible three minute daydream about leaving them out, adding more water to the mess of the floor, so that by the time Changmin comes back from filming he’ll be  _livid_  and mindless and all growly-turned-on in a way that ends with Yunho shoved up against the bathroom mirror  _wailing_.

“Fuck,” Yunho says, for the third time, once his ears manage to stop ringing. Walking is really much harder than it should be at the moment. “ _Fuck_.”

He opens the bathroom cabinet, spares a brief glance for how the mirror’s actually fogging up by virtue of his own biological fuck up--and only just barely manages not to down the entire bottle of suppressants.

It seems quite full given the circumstances--usually, of course, heats are predictable and seasonal and don't happen more than once a year, but usually, of course, one hasn't lived one’s entire life (minus one painful year in the middle b/c lawsuits) without  _any_  full stop. And also, usually, of course, one hasn’t recently _bonded_ to the love of their life. At the time, Yunho had found the entire thing amusing. His doctor had put him on suppressants until next April, and Yunho had immediately gone to great pains to get caught in the middle of various backstages talking in secret glee to his body about not giving Changminnie those twenty-five babies just yet. Changmin had mostly made pained wailing noises and threatened to call divorce lawyers.

But all of this is irrelevant, Yunho realizes with some growing panic, because clearly this isn’t just some sort of Virgin-Mary-level fuck up on his body’s part. This is something the doctors warned him about four months ago, and also, very much the product of Yunho forgetting something incredibly important.

Theoretically, it wouldn’t be a problem. Someone would have to post watch, someone would have to buy them condoms, and three or so days later Yunho’d be fine. Only, as stated, Changmin isn’t here, Nissan Stadium is in five days, and Yunho can’t leave the damn apartment.

“Fuck it,” Yunho says, and thinks, and swallows two pills dry.

\--

They do absolutely nothing.

Yunho spends the next two hours in a constant state of arousal, agitation, and quiet panic, pacing around the apartment, ruining both their beds, ruining  _the couch_ \--and then cleaning the couch sadly thanking the world that no one’s around to see him.

His phone rings a few times, but it’s not Changmin’s ringtone, or Changmin’s text tone, so Yunho ignores it, too strung out and desperate to deal with the rest of the world at present.

Which is why someone pounding on the door to the apartment, followed by his manager’s voice, annoyed, a little panicked, and very, very done, comes at a complete and horrific surprise.

Yunho only just manages to get his hand out of his pants and the TV turned back on by the time the man is coming in with his spare key, a shouted, “Yah, Jung Yunho I’m coming in!”

The man looks exhausted--no doubt he was the one calling and texting and doing whatever for the past two hours--but whatever telling-off’s he was gearing up for fall flat when he sees Yunho, sprawled across the couch, wearing all of Changmin’s clothes, smelling like heat, and looking miserable.

“What did you  _do_?” asks the man, and his nostrils flare.

Yunho does a panicked rummage through the part of his brain that stores personnel files, trying to remember if Manager-hyung is an alpha, omega, or beta--before the full meaning of that sentence settles in and he feels like he should be upset.

“Hey,” he says. His cock is still tenting the front of Changmin’s sweat pants in a way that is incredibly distracting for everyone in the room, probably.

Yunho grabs a pillow and shoves it over his dick, which in all honesty, helps about zero percent, because now it’s taking all of his self control not to hump the damn thing to yet another unsatisfying orgasm. That would be number five at this point? Or four? Yunho’d stopped counting when they went dry and it became clear they weren’t going to do anything except piss him off.

Manager-hyung glares back at him. He looks a little red around the edges and his nostrils are still very wide, but there’s no erection filling out the front of his jeans, and Yunho thinks that’s probably got more to do with the fact that the man’s a beta than the fact that Changmin’s scent is everywhere in the apartment, mixing with Yunho’s in an incredibly obvious show of possession.

Yunho feels a headache coming on. “It’s fine,” he says. “I just forgot I was supposed to be taking suppressants.”

Manager-hyung’s face pales.

“But I took them just now,” Yunho rushes on to say, since he did, only he can’t remember if he’d gotten the dose right, or if the stuff the company gave him even worked like that, but really, he’d tried. And anyway, he’d been a little distracted with both trying not to be a possessive newly mated asshole and the fucking _Dome tour_ to remember the pills. Not that he’d ever really remembered them anyway, since Changmin was still slightly too anal about everything that went even remotely near Yunho’s mouth.

In fact.

“It’s Chagnminnie’s fault,” says Yunho.

This seems to throw Manager-hyung for a loop. He pauses, mouth pulling even tighter, before stepping further into the apartment and kicking off his shoes, not even looking to see if they land properly in the foyer.

Yunho’s eyes narrow, instantly distracted. “You should clean those up,” he says, fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of the pillow. “Changminnie will be angry.”

Changminnie will probably be  _furious_ , if not too tired to do much more than grumble, and he’ll probably also blame Yunho, because of course all messes in the apartment are Yunho’s fault, and then he’ll probably  _punish_  Yunho, and Changminnie’s punishments are literally the  _best_ , so Yunho spends the next five seconds floating somewhere off near their bedroom, eyes glassy and hips slowly fucking up into the pillow.

“Actually no,” he says, and wow his voice sounds airy. “Leave them.”

Manager-hyung makes a tight, angry sound. “I’m calling Changmin,” he says, and that’s enough to snap Yunho out of it.

He gets up off the couch, pillow falling away, erection still fucking obvious, and pads to a stop in front of the man, arms crossed, expression tense. “Don’t call him,” Yunho says.

Manager-hyung’s eyes dip down, widen, and then come back up. His pupils are a little larger.

Yunho finds his head tilting despite himself. Maybe the man’s actually an alpha? But then, no? Changmin would have killed him? Or done the whole, ‘I’m the boss’ dance while Yunho rolled his eyes and very politely pointed out that the sexual preferences of their staff really had no bearing on their professional relationship, and, also, could he stop acting like he wasn’t perfectly content to have Yunho do most of the public speaking and leading.

Yunho’s brow furrows. “What are you?” he starts to say, before he gets himself together, because Manager-hyung has sighed and taken out his phone.

Yunho doesn’t bat the thing out of his hands so much as go to grab it and miss, but either way the older man ends up staring back at him like he can’t quite figure out what to do with him. Yunho feels proud, for one dumb second, because,  _heat_ , and then he’s just sort of annoyed, because  _Not. Changmin_.

“Don’t call Changmin. I’m fine,” he says in clipped tones. “I’ll just take a lot of showers and overdo it on the pheromone blockers.” He tries out a smile, hoping it’s not too sharp at the corners. “I’ve still got the full can from last meeting anyway.”

Manager-hyung winces, and Yunho almost feels bad.

It’s not his fault--not any of their staff’s fault that Yunho hasn’t been allowed to go around smelling like himself recently, because while it’s not like he goes around broadcasting how he likes it in bed generally, going off suppressants so you can mate with your equally suppressed bandmate tends to ramp things up to eleven, to make a horrible American film reference.

They really should watch  _Spinal Tap_  again, Yunho thinks. He should tell Changmin when he gets back from filming.

But, where were they?

“I really think I should call Changmin,” says Manager-hyung, and Yunho doesn’t feel at all bad for turning pouting puppy dog eyes on the man.

He knows he only gets away with it because of biology--and wow, not having a heat for most of his adult life really has messed him up if that’s working on  _betas_ , now--but Manager-hyung sighs and puts away his phone.

“If you’re sure,” he says, tone dubious.

Yunho heads over the kitchen with only mildly shaking legs, rummages through his bag in search of the scent blockers, and gives himself a heavy misting. “I’m sure,” he says, testing the air with an open mouth. “No one will be none the wiser.”

Manager-hyung still looks doubtful, but he lets it go, and Yunho decides the man needs a raise.

“You can’t go out wearing that, though,” Manager-hyung says, and Yunho’s mouth snaps shut on the suggestion. “Everyone knows those are Changmin’s.” His eyes dip down. “And you’re not wearing underwear.”

Yunho growls, feeling cornered, but leashes the instinctual urge to hide himself in the room until Changmin gets home anyway. “Fine,” he says, and turns around with as much dignity as he can.

“And I’ll send Cordi-noona to get you some liners,” Manager-hyung calls after him, sounding about as pleased about the conversation as Yunho is. “For the, uh, leak.”

Yunho’s ears feel like they’re on fire, but because he’s in heat, his erection doesn’t even fucking wane. And Yunho’s perfectly aware that he’s got a little bit of a thing for humiliation--it’d be hard not to know when you’re mated to Shim fucking Changmin--but this probably takes the cake.

He growls, digs his nails into his palms, and doesn’t slam the door to the bedroom behind him. “I’m taking a shower,” he barks. “Don’t wait up.”

Manager-hyung has the grace to let himself out of the apartment somewhere in the middle of the second orgasm, and Yunho spares a tiny thought back towards the whole raise thing, before the ache in his abdomen and pounding in his head comes back full force.

 _Goddamn_  but does he want to call Changmin.

\--

The car ride is the worst half hour of Yunho’s life, and Yunho once performed on stage with a sprained wrist and an ache in his teeth that lasted weeks instead of days. For their part, their staff do their best to make things easy for him--handing him water, indulging his less-than-lovely mood swings, and dodging his poor temper with all the patience years of working together has afforded them. Yunho only has to interrupt five phone calls to Changmin, all of which had gone to voicemail, and all of which featured Yunho snarling ‘What are you doing--are you calling Changmin--don’t call Changmin--Changdol Hyung is  _fine_ , don’t come  _back_ ’ in a terrible mixture of Japanese and Korean while Manager-hyungdeul sighed and shoved him back into his seat. 

When they arrive in Yokohama Yunho is exhausted, still fucking aroused, and expected to view the venue. He wants to do that--wants to see what the stage looks like, see the seating and the whole expanse of it, but he also really just wants to go to hole himself up in the hotel room and fuck his own hand until he stops feeling like he’s going to go crazy or falls asleep. Whichever comes first.

He goes to the stadium.

It’s breathtaking.

The screens have gone up already and the elevator mechanisms are just about set up and Yunho wants to go up in one, but Sam-san is shaking his head before he can even ask.

No one’s said anything about all the clothes Yunho’s been forced into, nor the fact that he’s kept his face mask on, but Changmin’s always walking around with the thing on for practice, so probably they just think it’s normal. Maybe they even think he’s missing Changmin. He thinks some of their older female staff still find them cute whenever they do anything vaguely suggestive of their relationship.

Yunho thinks it’s cute.

Changmin’s usually a little bit bothered by it, but lately he’s been a little more secretly pleased.

And they’d be right; Yunho does miss Changmin, just, mostly it’s his cock that misses Changmin at present.

A lot. So, very much. Yunho glances down, frowning, and then looks around. Everyone’s really busy. He could probably go off and find some corner and no one would even come looking. He could probably just go up to his room for some much needed alone time. Or a shower.

Yunho could really use a cold shower.

Manager-hyung steps up next to him and spritzes him with the scent blockers, tension evident in every line of his body. “I’m calling Changmin,” he says, and then when that does nothing, “Stop staring at your cock.”

Yunho flushes, all the way to his toes it feels like, and startles to attention. “I was not!” he protests, face hot.

Manager-hyung looks unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

Yunho grabs the bottle out of his hand, compresses the top and walks through the newly sprayed mist purposefully, eyes narrowed. “Don’t fucking call him,” he says. “I’m fine.”

\--

Yunho is not fine. It’s been twenty-four hours, and while Yunho’d been okay for most of them--if having incredibly painful and not at all satisfying orgasms while angrily watching Changmin’s show could really be called ‘okay’--he’d given in and texted Heechul-hyung about it, and once the older man had managed to stop laughing hysterically at Yunho about it, he’d actually been a bit helpful.

 _Are you’re going to be able to do the show Saturday?_  he’d said, and Yunho hadn’t thought about it until them. Heechul-hyung had then gone on about some of the omegas he’d been with and Yunho had tapped out of the conversation very quickly because there was talking about it and there was being reduced to an omega like some sort of notch in a bedpost, and while usually he and -Heechul-hyung were quite good at not getting into it, sometimes it came up. Sometimes his hyung would look at him, and Yunho would just know he was thinking about what would have happened if it hadn’t been twenty-two year old Shim Changmin who’d changed Yunho’s mind about what it meant to be an omega.

But now Yunho can’t stop worrying about it, can’t stop googling it on a mindless loop while Changmin bumbles around on screen failing to bowl. Yunho doesn’t know why he’s watching this episode anyway--the training episode Changmin filmed just before they went to Milan is a lot more amusing to watch, and Yunho likes to think he’s grown up enough to watch Changmin’s mouth swell up like some sort of balloon and laugh at him. Cause that’s what people do in healthy relationships. They certainly don’t spend the entire afternoon casually texting Kang Hodong like ‘ _is he okay we have a photobook tomorrow I mean not that that’s what’s important but is he okay are you icing it is _Jongsoo-hyung_  icing it don’t let Jongsoo-hyung ice it-- _don’t let Changminnie know I said that__ \--’

Yunho growls, thoughts a mess, and shoves his phone away from himself angrily.

He’s not even trying to get off anymore. It doesn’t help, it just makes him angry, and also he’s starting to worry about the state of his dick at his rate. Changmin should be home soon, anyway. How embarrassing would it be if he came back and found that not only had Yunho skipped a round of suppressants like some sort of girl trying to get pregnant--and great, now Yunho’s reaching for his phone so he can google his birth control to see if this is going to fuck that up as well--but also he’d gone and broken his cock like the inept loser he’s starting to feel like.

Yunho drops the phone on his chest with another bitten out groan, eyes feeling heavily, cock fucking throbbing on his belly. He’s leaking again. Manager-hyung had had to go out and buy him some sort of fancy tablecloth-like thing to save the hotel duvet.

Yunho is literally never going to live this down. They’re probably going to have to burn the sheets when Changmin gets back.

They’ll probably never be allowed back in Yokohama again.

“I hate my life,” says Yunho.

His phone buzzes. It’s his manager.

 _Why’s Changmin’s phone off_?

Yunho stares at the message a little cross-eyed for a moment. He thinks there’s something wrong with how he’s lying in bed with Changmin’s sports show on the big scream completely naked texting his manager about things like this, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Unless Manager-hyung wants a naked selfie. Yunho bites his lips.

 _Do you want a naked selca_? he types.

There’s a very long pause.  _Yunho-yah._

Yunho blinks.

_Why is Changmin’s phone off?_

_I dunno_ , he starts to type, and then thinks about it.  _Probably he’s using the Korean one?_ he decides.  _Or he’s too busy fooling around with Hodong-hyung and Soogeun-hyung and fucking Jongsoo-hyung--_

Manager-hyung interrupts him before he can hit send.  _I’m calling the Korean one_.

Yunho scrambles upright, pressing the phone button in the corner a little frantically. “Hyung no,” he says, when the call clicks through. “No--I’m fine, don’t call him. I--”

His voice breaks.

On screen Changmin laughs, a true laugh, with mismatched eyes and absolutely no care for what the expression is doing to his face.

Yunho swallows. “Please.” He’s not above begging. “He loves the show so much.”

Manager-hyung is silent for a long moment. “I’m going to get you morning afters,” he says finally. “You can afford ten hours tomorrow when he lands but they need you in rehearsal.” The man sounds apologetic. “It’s Nissan Stadium, Yunho-yah.”

Yunho gets it. “Thank you,” he says, and hangs up.

He looks at the time.  _22:15PM._  Changmin’s flight gets in  _hours_.

Yunho grits his teeth and kicks his phone to the floor.

It’s fine.

\--

He comes awake in one great gasp, head thrown back against the pillows, hands clenching on air and sheets and then too soft hair, to Changmin’s mouth wrapped around his dick, and Changmin’s fingers biting into his hips.

Yunho swallows a moan, vision going spotty, and focuses on breathing more than anything else. The TV is still on, glowing blue black in the dimly lit room because his laptop’s given up and switched itself off. The lamp’s on. Yunho doesn’t remember turning the lights out. Changmin must’ve done it when he got in--turned on the lamp and closed the blinds for bed, probably, because they’re not due for ten hours and he must be exhausted.

Yunho almost feels bad, since he knows Changmin hates sleeping on planes and hates doing shows on no sleep, but mostly Yunho just  _feels_ , heart racing, chest heaving, and cock  _coming_  for what feels like  _hours_ \--

\--while Changmin just hums and hums and  _hums_ , content to swallow it all down with nothing more than a bruising grip along Yunho’s hip bones, nails biting into the sensitive flesh there.

“Imagine my surprise,” he says when he pops off, voice only slightly hoarse. “When I turned on my phone upon landing at Kansai airport to find  _twenty voicemails_  from almost every single one of our Korean and Japanese staff, including Sam-san.” He says the honorific all pretty and Japanese and Yunho goes vaguely breathless despite the orgasm, brain gone to mush and down Changmin’s throat with the rest of him.

Changmin laughs, not unkindly, but Yunho feels his cheeks burn anyway.

“Now that was quite a voicemail.”

Yunho suddenly can’t look him in the eyes, horrified. He  _told_  them not to call him.

He remembers the night, years ago, when a much younger Changmin looked him in the eye and told him in hushed tones how he didn’t want to be someone’s reflection so much as their other half, and how he was so scared that he was going to be a beta and end up alone. Yunho’d looked right back at him, heart racing, wrapped him up in a too tight hug, told him everything would be fine and of course he wouldn’t end up alone, and very quietly started responding to the text messages his mother kept sending him and attending the doctor’s appointments he’d been missing.

And then their world blew to shit in 2009, and things kind of got swept under the rug.

Yunho bites his lip.

“Hyung?” Changmin sounds concerned, and Yunho looks at him before he can help himself.

Changmin’s brows pull together, and he looks almost cowed and incredibly gentle when he taps Yunho on the hip again. “Budge over.”

Yunho goes, fully aware that this is nothing like heats are supposed to be, but feeling a little bit lost and fragile, and then angry at himself for feeling this way because he is  _never_  a stereotype, not even a  _little_.

Changmin cuddles him, curling himself around Yunho’s bulkier frame and burying his face in Yunho’s neck like an overgrown kitten. He feels more solid than before, new muscles in his arms and new hair growing on his upper lip, but he looks at Yunho the same, if not with slightly more apprehension and bemused affection.

Yunho remembers suddenly that he’s not the only one who’s never done this before; that he’s not the only one who’s just gotten mated to the world’s busiest and most wanted man.

His eyes feel wet.

Changmin doesn’t say anything.

Yunho’s almost content to stay like that, but his dick says otherwise. There’d been some relief after the blowjob, because his body knew it was Changmin and knew that that meant fucking and biting and  _knotting_ , but his body’s also too new to heat to be fine with just one orgasm. Not that either of them was complaining--multiple orgasms are something of a staple for the two of them in bed, at this point.

So Changmin just sighs a little, obviously a tired, but let’s Yunho grind back against his dick again anyway.

Yunho stills. “Oh,” he says. “You’re hard.”

Changmin’s definitely rolling his eyes. “Yunho-hyung,” he says. “You’re in heat.”

Yunho flushes despite himself, glad they’re back to front so he doesn’t have to try to meet Changmin’s eyes. “Yeah, well,” he says.

Changmin hides a grin in the back of Yunho’s neck, and then, after a moment, presses a tiny kiss to the skin there.

Yunho goes from flickering flames to roaring fire in three seconds flat. “ _Changdol_ ,” he gasps out.

Changmin growls in return, one hand snaking down Yunho’s chest to circle his cock, barely there pressure that has Yunho fucking his hips forward without thinking.

“ _Changdol_ ,” he tries again.

Changmin kisses him on the neck again, and then on the shoulder, and then lets go of Yunho’s dick so that he can roll him, not satisfied until Yunho is on his back under him, wide-eyed and throbbing and blushing  _everywhere._

His heart feels like it’s in his throat, so he swallows, which doesn’t help, and Changmin’s eyes follow the bob of his Adam’s apple like he’s been hypnotized.

Yunho licks his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me it was an accident?” says Changmin, and Yunho’s legs stop trying to fall open rather abruptly.

“Yah!” he says, reaching out with both hands to gently shove at Changmin’s unfairly gorgeous pectorals. “It absolutely was an accident!”

Changmin giggles--actually giggles--and Yunho drags his fingers down to his nipples almost angrily, rubbing at the nubs of flesh until they’re pebbled up against his palms and Changmin’s got his lip between his teeth and a flush streaked across his cheeks.

“Ha,” Yunho thinks, and says, because he knows the fans have a thing for his chest but Changmin has a thing for his as well--maybe even  _more_  of a thing.

Almost as if he’s heard Yunho’s thoughts, Changmin is reaching for Yunho’s nipples, and Yunho squawks, undignified and laughing and pulling rather uselessly at Changmin’s hold at him as the other man goes to town, pinching and stroking and squeezing until Yunho’s cock is dribbling messily against his abdomen and it’s all he can do not to hitch his legs around Changmin’s hips then and there.

“I mean it,” Yunho says, a little petulantly. “It was an accident.”

Changmin looks like he believes him, even though he raises his eyebrows playfully anyway and chases Yunho’s mouth for kisses before he can protest even more.

Yunho’s mostly just glad he’s not going for the obvious sticking point: the twenty-five children Yunho can’t stop teasing him about. But also, Yunho fucking _missed him_ , for more than just sex and fucking and heat reasons. So he gasps, arches up, and gives up on not being completely shameless. His legs fall apart, one hand reaching up to grab Changmin by the nape and the other sliding down his back to his ass--the left side, always, because opportunities are opportunities and habits are habits and if Changmin is never going to be able to proudly display his mating mark the least Yunho can do is show it the appreciation it truly deserves--

“You fucker,” Changmin mumbles into the seam of Yunho’s mouth, and Yunho hauls him closer until he falls between the v of Yunho’s thighs with a muffled breath of air, still fully clothed.

It’s got to be the heat, but Yunho finds he doesn’t mind that Changmin’s wearing jean shorts, because they’re old and worn thin but still _twinge_ a little when Yunho’s hips press up, rutting his cock against the fabric more than a little frantically.

Changmin breaks away from Yunho’s mouth with a great gasp, breath puffing against Yunho’s cheek in one hot gust. “Hyung, wait,” he says, but Yunho really doesn’t want to wait anymore, not when he’s got Changmin all the way on top of him, not when he can  _smell_ Changmin, rich and luxurious and goddamn  _permeating_  the entire hotel room with sudden arousal.

Yunho wonders briefly if anyone else can smell them, if anyone else at the hotel’s been able to smell  _him_ , but very quickly gets distracted by the slow swoosh of Changmin pulling his sweater off, thrown off towards the floor with only slightly shaking hands.

He’s got a t-shirt on underneath, white and tight fitting and leaving nothing to the imagination. Yunho leans forward and almost thinks he can smell him on it, the sweat and the endorphins and the great big ball of competitiveness coming off it like a beacon, like a reminder of where Changmin’s been, of who Changmin’s been with.

And that’s what does it, probably, because Yunho’s been very good at not letting it get to him in ways that Changmin notices, but it has been  _months_  of this, of having to watch Changmin scarf down meals in minutes flat so that he can go off to practice table tennis on odd surfaces, drag Manager-hyung out bowling like Yunho doesn’t love bowling more than any other sport, or text Jongsoo-hyung until he’s falling asleep in his seat, eyes all droopy and smile oh so soft.

Yunho groans, head all foggy, thoughts a mess, and thrashes around on the pillow a little bit. The stupid table cloth has gone and stuck to his ass and it’s awful, but Changmin’s started on the t-shirt now, one hand playing on the button to his jeans, so Yunho can’t do more than kick halfheartedly at the thing and drag himself up so that he’s resting against the headboard, heart pounding.

It’s  _unfair_ , is what it is, that Changmin’s become so lovely on the show, so confident and wonderful and more outgoing. Because Yunho loves it, he really does, and he loves Hodong-hyung and he fully takes credit for laughing when the man tried to get him on  _Moonlight Prince_  at Rokgi-hyung’s wedding and suggesting Changmin instead but--

There’s a part of him, a tiny part of him that Yunho usually ignores, that is still a little lost, still a little off center, and still worries, stupidly, that even though it’s Changmin’s teeth burned into the skin of Yunho’s hip, one day Yunho will stop being enough for him. He’ll get too old, or too messy, or too  _anything_  and Changmin will leave him for better and greater things.

Yunho thinks, this isn’t like him, and maybe this is the product of going off suppressants in preparation for a fucking _bonding_ ceremony and then going back on them because biology and pheromones and the motherfucking _Dome_ tour.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that.

“I really told them not to call you,” is what he says instead.

Changmin pauses, shirt over his head and jeans halfway down his thighs, and then shucks the clothes off in two seconds flat, coming up the bed to drape himself over Yunho like a cage, all golden skin and new muscles and plane-mussed-bedhead.

Yunho swallows. He’s way too heat-fucked for this sort of conversation.

Changmin seems to pick up on that, sighing. “Hyung,” he says. “Are you going to cry if I fuck you before addressing that because you seriously look like you’re going to eat my dick at this point--”

“I  _do not_!” shrieks Yunho, even though he probably does, because naked Changmin and naked Changmin’s dick and  _heat_.  

Changmin stares at him like he doesn’t believe him, eyes pointed, and Yunho growls, suddenly self-conscious, but unable to do much of anything with Changmin so solidly in his lap.

“Hyung.” Changmin’s voice is a shade sharper, more serious, and Yunho thinks maybe there’s something wrong with him, because he’s basically been gagging for it for two days at this point and now that he has the it in question he’s decided to talk about feelings.

“I’m jealous and it’s dumb,” he says in one great rush, and wow, that feels better now that that’s out there, although he’s still scared shitless Changmin’s going to fucking leave him and the tour is fucking  _fucked_.

For a moment no one says much of anything--to be honest Yunho’s kind of still waiting for the other shoe to drop--and then he pauses, because Changmin’s shaking a little.

He opens his eyes finally, a little horrified, only to blink, confused, because Changmin is giggling into Yunho’s neck.

He’s not full on laughing, but his eyes are all squinty and his shoulders are moving and Yunho only has to touch him on the biceps a little before he’s all the way gone, sprawling boneless against Yunho’s chest and looking three years younger all the while.

He looks like he did on the show, only better, because there’s even less held back here, even more out for Yunho to see like a starved man, like the dark bags under his eyes, and the hair lining his jaw, and the fact that he’s starting to get laugh lines in the corners of his eyes.

It takes Yunho’s breath away.

Changmin’s still laughing, which Yunho has to admit is more than a little insulting, but every time he tries to point that out Changmin just giggles more, seemingly helpless to it, and by the time he’s composed himself Yunho feels a smile on the edges of his own mouth.

“Yunho-hyung,” says Changmin. “Yunho-hyung, you’re an idiot.”

Yunho blinks.

Changmin wipes tears at the corners of his eyes.

Yunho blinks again. “Um,” he says. “I mean, yes, since I’m in damn heat and we’re talking about our feelings.”

Changmin’s hands glide down to cup Yunho’s hips again, hips rocking down rather pointedly so that Yunho’s sentences crack in two before their meaning can fully form. Fuck Korean and its inverted sentence structure; Yunho is trying to have feelings here.

“But why specifically?” Yunho gets out, growling a little around the words and reaching out to try to still Changmin’s hips. He’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable, angled up against the headboard.

Changmin grins at him, wicked soft, and drags Yunho down so that they’re lying the full length of the bed again, like they were before.

The fucking table cloth is digging into Yunho’s lower back now. He doesn’t care.

“I love you,” says Changmin, and Yunho feels his heart skip a beat like an utter loser, but he really can’t help it because he’s a romantic under all the bluster and Changmin fucking  _knows_.

Everyone he’s spoken to knows, every hoobae he’s so much as passed in the hallways probably knows this, but Yunho’s not even sorry, or embarrassed, because how can he be when he has Changmin--Shim die alone born alone Changmin--telling him he loves him and wrapping a hand around his dick every day?

Or.

Not that last bit, and not every day, certainly, because Changmin’s a bastard and he likes to ‘keep the surprise alive’ or whatever but Yunho knows every day, because even though he’s wolfing down meals to wander off to do sports he still drags Yunho to practices they won’t air and wakes him at odd hours to tell him all about the episodes before they’re even properly cut together.

Yunho’s feeling a little teary again, so he settles for fishing the table cloth out and throwing it dramatically at the floor, before reaching up for Changmin so he can kiss him.

Changmin hums in the back of his throat and kisses back, content to let Yunho control to kiss until he isn’t, and then Yunho really can’t think so much as feel, eyes shut, head spinning, as Changmin kisses him until his lungs ache.

They pull apart in a great gasp.

“Hyung,” Changmin says, very quietly. “Hyung, you don’t have to be jealous.”

“I know,” replies Yunho, also quiet. “I know--Changdol-- _please_.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Changmin does, because there are fingers playing at his hole at last and Yunho groans, body gone taught and boneless all at once.

“Only you,” says Changmin, sliding in two fingers to the knuckle without any warning. “Only you would spend twenty-four hours--”

“Forty-eight,” Yunho corrects rather breathlessly, fucking down on Changmin’s fingers almost lazily. “Forty- _eight_ \--”

“Forty-eight,” Changmin corrects, curling up against Yunho’s prostate like an absolute dick. “Only you would spend forty-eight hours in  _heat_  threatening to fire our entire staff for calling me away from filming, because you know how much the show means to me and, I quote, ‘if I have to see Changminnie look all sad because he missed filming again I will  _end you_ \--‘”

“This is unfair--slander,” Yunho groans out, reaching down to find Changmin’s wrist so that he can change the angle of his fingers and whining when Changmin just pulls them straight out like a tool.

“Jung.” There’s a ripping noise--where did Changmin get supplies?--and then the slow rustling of the condom rolling on, before Changmin is pulling Yunho upright and sighing. “I have the voicemails to prove it.”

“That wasn’t me,” says Yunho, voice only half squeaking as Changmin slides home in one long thrust. “It was-- _ah_ \--an  _actor_ \--”

Changmin arranges the two of them so that Yunho’s basically sitting on his cock, thighs spread around his hips and knees on the bed, and then doesn’t fucking do anything.

Yunho gets manages to peel his eyes open after only three embarrassing moments, and Changmin is grinning at him. “Yah.” Yunho clenches down. “Don’t be a tease.”

Changmin’s hips stutter, ears going a bit red, and Yunho revels in that.

Changmin’s blossomed into a proper variety star, certainly, but he’ll still always be Yunho’s baby in all the ways that count. And Yunho may roll his eyes and smack at him but he’ll always be willing to take the microphone or laugh at his own expense or doing frankly stupid things on television for Changmin.

“You’re thinking too much,” says Changmin suddenly. “Are you sure you’re in heat?”

Yunho glowers at him. “I’ve gotten off like fifty fucking times you asshole,” he says, shifting his weight onto his knees and pushing off Changmin’s dick tentatively.

Changmin’s eyes fall shut and he groan, one hand coming up to touch Yunho’s neck, the other slipping down to where they’re joined.

Yunho’s barely manages not to bite his tongue off, eyes rolling a little into the back of his head.

“Tell me more,” Changmin says.

Yunho drops his head against Changmin’s chest and stares down at his own dick, so hard it’s painful looking. “What?” he says, distracted, and then when Changmin slows to a halt: “No wait I heard you don’t do that--”

Changmin’s giggling at him again, and Yunho would hit him but it’s hard to focus when there’s a cock pressed up against your prostate.

“Tell me more,” Changmin repeats anyway, voice gone low and husky. “If you can.”

Yunho scoffs: “I sincerely hope you’re joking right now because if I’m honest this is not going to cut it.”

“You ‘sincerely hope’--‘if you’re honest’--‘not going to cut it’,” Changmin mocks, in time to his thrusts, and then rolls them over so that Yunho’s on his back again, hips finally getting into it in a rhythm Yunho can’t quite figure out but never wants to stop.

“Shim Changmin you’re the worst,” he groans, somewhat startled to find he hasn’t come once since the blowjob, and eyes widening despite himself. “Oh.”

Changmin frowns at him, glances down where Yunho’s looking at his own dick, and reaches down between them to stroke him in counter to his thrusts.

Yunho makes a dismayed sounding nose and reaches out for Changmin, grabbing onto what he can reach and just sort of clinging, eyes shut, mouth open, as he arches and comes between them in one incredibly embarrassing go.

Changmin looks smug, hips still moving in that maddeningly slow pace, and brings his hand to his lips to taste.

Yunho hates him. “I’m going to have to tell Manager-hyung that the drugs didn’t work,” he says in one squirmy rush, because that’s where he’d been going before the orgasm. He doesn’t really remember being forced to swallow them beyond the utter horror of having to wake the man at three in the morning on the fourteenth because he was absolutely unable to fucking sleep--that was probably when Sam-san had called Changmin, come to think of it, because Yunho ran into him in the hotel room on his way back to his room, and he thinks he was wearing more than Changmin’s hoodie but it’s very likely he was not.

“Please don’t talk about Manager-hyung while I’m fucking you,” says Changmin polite as you like, and hitches one of Yunho’s legs up around his hips so that he can better slam against Yunho’s prostate.

“Oh my  _God_ ,” groans out Yunho, and comes.

Everything goes all lovely and floaty for a moment and Yunho revises his statement on the drugs because he’s actually starting to feel a little bit less crazy now and Changmin hasn’t even knotted him, and then he almost feels sad, because after tour they have their comeback and then  _more_  tour, and Yunho doesn’t think they’ll be able to get away with missing more suppressants in the middle of that, let alone have enough free time to fully enjoy that.

“You know I’m a Buddhist, right?” Changmin is saying when Yunho finally manages to open his eyes again, and Yunho smacks him gently on the arm.

“Shut up,” he groans. “You’re the worst.”

“Yes, but you love me,” says Changmin, hips only stuttering slightly to give away the fact that he’s about ten thrusts away from knotting.

Yunho whines, legs spreading and cock hardening once more.

“You love me so much you’re jealous of the fact that I text my badminton partner more than you,” continues Changmin, without pause, and how unfair is that.

Yunho’s basically losing his mind and Changmin still finds time to sass him. Why couldn’t SM have gone with Four Seasons? Yunho would never have been like this to Heechul and Kangin. Yunho would have been a  _model_ maknae.

“Even though it’s you that I come home to,” continues Changmin, fucking in earnest now, and Yunho knows where’s he’s going with this before he starts thumbing at his hips, dragging the pads of his fingers through the crease of Yunho’s thigh. “Even though it’s you that I love.”

“ _Changmin-ah_!” Yunho wails, nails raking down Changmin’s back, and he doesn’t know if it’s the words, the sentiment, or the feeling of nail dragging against his mating mark that does it, but they go over one after another, moaning and sighing and pressed together in the most intimate way possible.

For a moment, no one says anything.

And then, with mild trepidation: “The lamp’s out,” says Changmin finally. “I think someone kicked it.”

There’s another pause.

“You mean me,” Yunho says finally. “I kicked it.”

Another pause, and then, the sound of fleshing meeting flesh.

“Ow, yes,” Changmin says finally, rubbing at his shoulder like Yunho did more than love tap him. “You kicked it.” His lips quirk. “I guess you missed me that much, huh?”

Yunho glares at him, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m in heat,” he says.

Changmin kisses him, sugar sweet. “I know,” he says, and shifts.

Yunho sighs, the coil in his stomach finally starting to unknot, and actually starts to feel the cold of the aircon. He shivers.

Changmin curls more firmly around him like an overgrown space heater or maybe an octopus, and Yunho yawns.

“The drugs definitely worked,” he says. “I mean, you’re a drug in of itself--” Changmin snickers, but Yunho ignores him, because it’s true-- “But there’s no way we should be able to get away with like… one time. Manager-hyung will be so pleased.”

Changmin pets at his hair, and then at his neck, and then, before he can stop himself, down over Yunho’s right hip.

Yunho sighs again, not even a little worked up, and mostly sleepy, content, and warm.

Changmin is quiet for a while, seemingly thinking. “I kind of wish they hadn’t,” he says finally, and the sentiment is close enough to what Yunho’d been thinking earlier that he peels open an eye.

Changmin is staring back at him, beautiful in the darkness, even as a slice of sunlight slashes through the curtains to land across his cheekbones.

Yunho wants to kiss him and kiss him and never let anyone else see him ever again. He swallows that urge down and settles for shifting again, hips rocking back and forth and mouth opening up around a yawn and a moan.

Changmin goes a little cross-eyed. He looks like he’s in love, and Yunho’s chest feels full of air.

“Next time?” Yunho says, which is absurd, since he can’t promise that, but he gets it. It’s nice to have an excuse to just be together, for days on end, without someone knocking on their door with albums and tours and reality close behind.

Changmin looks back at him like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing, and Yunho buries his face into his neck before he can stop himself. “You’re such a sap, Changdol,” he whispers. “What will the tabloids say?”

“Yah, shut up,” says Changmin, sounding embarrassed, but cuddles him back anyway. He’s quiet for a little while longer. “I don’t mind, by the way,” he says finally.

Yunho doesn’t move but opens one eye. “Mmm?”

“That you’re jealous,” Changmin clarifies, and what a fucker. They’re literally physically joined at the moment so of course the little shit is taking the moment to force the issue.

Yunho clenches down on Changmin’s dick out of pure spite.

It has the opposite effect, because now Yunho’s not tired anymore, and if he’s not going to sleep, he might as well. “You’re not?”

Changmin shifts them around so that Yunho’s the one cuddling him, pleased. “No,” he says. “It’s nice.” He yawns; Yunho remembers that he’s been nonstop filming.

“What did you do today?” he says.

“Told Jongsoo-hyung that I was going to leave my mate for him,” Changmin replies promptly, and the grumbles when Yunho shoves at his shoulder. “Stop doing that you’re going to make me come.”

Yunho feels a grin start in the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, you asshole,” says Changmin, but he sounds amused.

“You love my asshole,” says Yunho promptly, because how can he not, and only shrieks slightly when Changmin tickles him.

\--

**Omake**

\--

The drugs Manager-hyung got them it turns out, when mixed with the birth control, high grade suppressants, and also Yunho’s _disastrous_ luck, put Yunho's body into some sort of weird pseudo cycle. Yunho finds this out the hard way after Nissan, which in hindsight, makes sense, because normal people would get sick after a momentous life changing event, so of course Yunho just goes into heat again in the span of two fucking days.

It feels like a hiccup, a barely there probably will only need one fuck sort of burn that really doesn’t warrant throwing their staff out of their apartment--they’d all gathered to watch Changmin’s show around the television after Sadako--so that it’s just the two of them, but Yunho’s really not complaining.

Until Jongsoo-hyung and Changmin are on screen, and failing, and Changmin pauses mid-fuck, horrified. “They fucking cut us!” he says.

Yunho manages to lift his head a little, and then when he realizes the error of his ways, arches his back so he can better squint at the screen upside down, and kind of wants to laugh a little when he sees how expressive Changmin is during the match.

“I hope KBS fucking malfunctions,” says Changmin, and there’s a weird rustling sound, and when Yunho looks back up he’s on his damn phone.

“What are you doing--?”

“They’re filming right now, right?” Changmin glances over at the clock like he’s not holding a phone. “I’m fucking texting him right now--”

Yunho growls, horrified. “Changmin-ah!”

Changmin ignores him, letting go of his phone with one hand and reaching for Yunho’s traitorous dick with the other. “They’re all watching,” he grumbles. “They’re on some sort of bonding exercise and they’re all watching.”

Yunho glowers, at a loss, and then pauses, uncertain.

There’s a tiny silence, marred only but the sound of their breaths and the steady slide of skin, before Changmin’s ears start to blush a little, and then he glances more firmly down at the phone. “Apparently, they’re all going to have to write messages to each other on shirts or something,” he says. “Jongsoo-hyung will probably say something ridiculously sappy.”

Yunho stares at him for a while longer, at the blush of his ears, and tries not to read too much into it, or feel too weightless, when he pulls himself up by the strength in his abdominals, wraps both arms around Changmin’s shoulders, throws the phone to the side, and whispers, right against the shell of Changmin’s ear, “mine.”

Changmin shudders.

\--

end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya)!
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/173316087766/the-heart-fluttering-feeling-author-zimriya) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/918632503136653313)


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